Mom looked up quickly. “Paul?”

“I’m sorry, Rach. I have a meeting I can’t miss. We’ll have to finish this later. If you want to stay home, you should. But I . . . can’t.”

“But . . . ,” said Mom.

“I’m sorry,” said Dad, not sounding very sorry. “Life doesn’t stop because Leah decides to suddenly become a juvenile delinquent. People are counting on me. I have a job to do.”

“Yeah,” said Mom. “I know that.” Then she reached for her coffee mug on the table in front of her, and held it tightly in both hands, until the door shut with a click.

I looked at the mug. It read, I’d rather be smashing the patriarchy. Then I glanced up at Mom. Her face was angry, but somehow I could tell that she was more pissed at Dad than she was at me. Only I wasn’t sure what to do with that.

So I shrugged. “Toilet paper emergency,” I said.

“Not funny, Leah,” snapped Mom. Even though it kind of was.

Somewhere in my brain, beyond everything that was happening now, I wondered if she knew about the cornfield in the garage. I wondered if she knew why he was painting it. I wondered if Mom and Dad talked to each other, about real things. It was hard to know exactly who was lying, and exactly what about. Which was worse: a lie or a secret?

“Dammit,” said Mom, startling me. She took a deep breath. “Dammit, dammit, dammit. Where were you, Leah? What on earth were you doing, running around the streets in the middle of the night?”

“I was . . . at a friend’s house,” I said. It was the truth.

Mom frowned. “Does your friend have a name?”

“Jasper,” I said. “I told you about her, remember?”

“Yes,” said Mom. “Jasper, the new friend. The girl we still haven’t met. You went swimming. You painted her room.” Then she added, “I need to ask. Are you sleeping with her? Or maybe the two of you went to hook up with some boys together?”

“What?”

“Or drinking? Or drugs? Are you doing drugs with her?”

“Mom!” I said. “I’m thirteen.”

“Do you think we’re stupid? We know what can happen. We know what kids do. We aren’t fools. Kids younger than you are out there doing—”

“Mom.” I cut her off. “We were just talking. I don’t . . . sleep . . . with anyone. I’ve never even kissed anyone. Jeez. And I don’t do drugs. I’m not an idiot.”

“In the middle of the night, Leah? Why on earth would you sneak out for no reason, when you can see your friend anytime, all day long?”

“It just seemed . . . fun,” I said. “To be out at night.”